Nocturnal
by WhiteRosesAndLoveLetters
Summary: Two-shot, AU. An owl hoots a lonely, melancholy tune. The night is not quiet. Characters: Baralai, Seymour, Yuna, Lulu.
1. Nocturnal

**(A/N):** Part 1 of 2 (possibly 3). I wrote this two years ago, when I heard about this case on the news. A 29 year old woman in Antioch (my area!) endured 18 years of rape and abuse from her kidnapper and somehow managed to escape and contact the police. She even has two children with that bastard. Yeah.

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><p><strong>Nocturnal<strong>

The night is not quiet.

I stare wide-eyed in the dark, tense as a taut bow string, lying on bed with my arms curled to my chest.

An owl hoots a melancholy, soft tune, which lulls me to sleep. I can't doze off now, not when he will awake very soon.

Must stay awake, be on the lookout for any suspicious noises.

"Good morning, child."

His nasal voice and tender touch repulses me, yet his ministrations never fail to pleasure me.

That is my reward for not fighting back.

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><p>I was seven when Master abducted me. It happened out of the blue, in the middle of the day, while on my way back home from school.<p>

My looks are a curse. People have either loved me or hated me for it. The girls in Kindergarten were jealous of me and the neighborhood kids always picked on me for being girly. Master's sick and twisted mind was smitten with my pretty face, and he later claimed he had to have me all to himself.

Zero obedience.

Pain had come hourly, daily, weekly–

More obedience, less pain.

–monthly, yearly; soon, it came rarely.

Complete obedience, no pain.

Sixteen months. That's how long it took for me to learn there is no point in resisting.

Twenty months to have obedience beaten into my body. Thirty months for my heart to be maimed by his empty promises, insincere words, and superficial kindness. Five years (and still counting) of constant tears, of psychological abuse, of decorative bruises scarred into my memory.

I miss mommy and daddy...

* * *

><p>I hear Master enter the house. That's odd, since he usually slinks in without a sound, and surprises me upon his arrival. But no, his return home is earlier than usual, and much louder, like he's not alone. I wonder who came to visit him today.<p>

I dare to leave the sanctuary of my room to sate my curiosity. Being as silent and cautious as possible, I grasp the door knob and slowly turn it, pushing the door forward, praying the metal hinges will not squeak and give me away. Please, don't betray me. All I want is one look.

"Baralai." I flinch, my tiny hands tightening on the door frame.

He saw me. There is no point in hiding behind the door anymore. Tentatively, I open the door fully and exit the room, revealing myself to Master like I know he wants me to. "Come and meet your playmate." I stare too long into his malicious grey eyes, and I avert my gaze, studying the guest instead. This is the first time I have seen a girl since Master kidnapped me.

"Yes, sir..." I drag my feet, despite my hammering heart. I can't stop staring at her. She fascinates me. "Hello..." I try my best at a smile, but the feeling of such a simple action has been lost to me. Apparently, she doesn't hear me. The girl is too busy crying and rubbing her face red. I don't want to imagine what Master did to her since abduction.

"Stop your sniveling, child, and greet the boy properly." He claws his sharp fingernails into her petite shoulders and the brunette yelps in pain. Instead of ceasing her noise, the act only further increased the volume of her vocal cords.

This does not please Master. No, it enrages him.

"When I tell you to 'silence,' I mean SILENCE!"

_Slap!_

I stand there, passive shock rooting me in place. The sight of her kneeling on the floor, cradling her bruised cheek and glaring at Master tearfully with such hate in her eyes, is so disturbingly familiar.

My first memories of Master hitting me, choking me, touching me in places where I wish he wasn't so rough - I don't want the same to happen to her.

"Master, s-stop..." I mumble, and when he approaches her without pause, I muster the energy to strengthen my voice. "Please stop, Master!"

Light, hasty footsteps.

A door slams somewhere in the house.

I gulp, awaiting my punishment.

* * *

><p>The days drag on, and the weeks have come and gone. For the first time since Master has abducted me, it has become easier to cope.<p>

Inaudible sobs.

I feel faint vibrations on the wooden floor against my cheek.

How long have I been unconscious?– A question I've stopped asking myself after the first five months of multiple, random, periodic black outs.

Feminine sniffles, and a voice so deceptive and sweet, I shiver.

"Shh. Don't fret, little one. Only the first time hurts. Beyond that, you will feel only pleasure."

"No more... no more..."

I peel my eyes open, painfully, and immediately regret doing so. The tears come silently, tirelessly, and my heart throbs. I close my eyes to block the image, but the darkness behind my closed eyelids forces me to relive the first time Master violated me.

I cry silently, too, motionless, hoping he won't notice my existence. Too scared to resist Master and save the girl who's having her innocence stolen; I'm a coward in the truest form.

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><p>"Why do you fight?" she asks me, horrified of the new bruises littering my lanky body. Proof of my shame and the result of my bitter defiance. I dress fast so Yuna won't see the rest.<p>

"Why do you?" I quip, pointing to the assortment of yellow and purple blotches on her arms, breasts, and thighs. Self-conscious of my staring, she clenches the blanket closer to her naked and pale body. I strain to hear her hoarse whisper.

"Because I'm not dead, yet."


	2. Retribution Dawn

**(A/N): **Sorrow has a Human Heart wrote this piece after reading my Nocturnal story, inspired and raging with justice. It focuses on Lulu's POV. I really have no comment, except that I'm flattered she felt so passionate from what I've written. :3

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><p><strong>Retribution Dawn<strong>

Lulu was a private person; a mid twenty-something who lived alone, with the exception of when her fiancé would make his weekly visit. Dealing with the outside world was not her specialty, but as of late, she'd taken to strolling down the back roads just before dawn. Silence provided the illusion of much-coveted safety. Only the scrape of her boots and the moderate, heavier breaths she took in her fast walk disturbed the peace. This morning, however, she found companionship in the gentle hooting call of an owl.

"Good morning to you, too." She responded in humor, spying the bird sitting on a low branch. The feathered creature cocked its head sideways, yellow eyes widening in curiosity of the answer it had received, but then he took flight, quickly realizing that his company was not of owl-kind. Lulu laughed soft. "Until later, then," and marched on.

Her fear of other humans had no place, here in the dead of early morning. The flashes of her past—things she'd witnessed her father do to her mother, or the way he'd manipulated and deformed her sister— for once, they did not disturb her. Not even that creeping, dreadful feeling that he'd hurt her, too, was allowed to intrude here and now.

Until later.

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><p>Hearing children scream in play was normal; it never drew Lulu's attention. On occasion, it annoyed her a little, when they were too shrill. This morning would change all of that. Growing up in a home of nightmares taught her to read and recognize children's screams: playful screams, intermittent with laughter; tired screams, mixed with blubbering and little effort; annoyed screams, made into a chaotic beat as siblings slapped at each other; spoiled screams, cried out through demands for toys and candy. And then, there was one scream that Lulu absolutely dreaded to hear, one that made her spine tingle and hair stand on end; the tortured scream. That cacophonous, desperate cry for help, yelled from tired lungs that had been practicing the sound for days, months, possibly even years.<p>

At first, she'd passed the sound off as coincidence, perhaps just some auditory flashback. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd had them. Always, she told herself that if she could understand the mental toll, if she understood the source of the symptoms, they didn't have to own her. Sometimes, she was right; others, she was wrong, but she didn't dare trust another therapist after the last one had written her off so easily. Now, her mission in life was vigilance. If she ever crossed paths with children being persecuted in the same way or worse, she'd end it. And, that watchfulness proved to her that what she was hearing from that same, slightly run-down, fenced in house was no hallucination. The desperate, hurting screams, and pleading, tortured whimpers were real. And, for all she'd endured in her past, nothing she could remember compared to this. Lulu's blood boiled and her heart burned. The decision, she'd already made.

"I won't watch this happen," she growled to herself, furious, possessed. She'd been forced to watch too much, to stand back unable to help all her life, but she wasn't a child anymore. Nothing was stopping her from doing something. NOW.

Reaching into her small backpack, she pulled out the large santoku knife she always carried "just in case". Little did she ever expect to have to use it, but if this wasn't a worthy cause, one probably didn't exist. Darkness provided enough cover for her to creep around to the back of the house unnoticed. Yet, even as she marched, it became more and more evident of what was going on here.

_"Please, no... not again... stop... stop...!"_ a tiny, weakened girl's voice begged, met with the stubborn curse of a demon in man's flesh.

_"You WILL __**obey! **__Must I restrain you again?"_

With that knowledge, that understanding, Lulu felt any sense of choice slipping away. To walk away now would be to condone what was happening. Blood pumping and psyche burning, Lulu found a large enough hole in the back yard fence to squeeze through. A rusty nail snagged her arm on the way, tearing at the soft flesh, but in her focus, she hardly felt it.

Whatever poor excuse for humanity resided here and held the child captive turned out to be foolish enough to leave the back window unlocked. All of those long night walks she'd taken finally proved useful as she easily propelled herself over the edge, through the opening, and landing on the kitchen floor. The house was silent now, save for soft whimpers and a strange, painful, belabored remark from upstairs—

_"...because I'm not dead yet..."_

So, there were at least two children here; two tortured, molested children. Lulu gripped the handle of her knife, and crouched in wait beneath the kitchen table, safely concealed behind the overhanging table cloth. Heavy footsteps came pounding on the linoleum floor, and Lulu spied her mark. He was somewhat heavy-set, and there was blood spattered on the groin of his pants, and staining his hands. He smirked proudly to himself as he lit a cigar, taping up several obscene photographs of his deeds to the refrigerator; a morbid parallel to children's drawings.

Bile lurching into her throat, Lulu could stand to watch no more. This man would die today. Just as he passed by, she juts out a leg, sending the devil sprawling face first onto the floor. Leaping from her haven beneath the table, Lulu plunged the santoku knife into his back once, twice, ten times. Once he ceased to twitch did she stop. Entranced and blind with sheer fury, she kicked the corpse to lie on his back, and proceeded to sever each guilty finger. Heart pounding, blood music assailing her senses, she ripped away his pants next, and castrated him, throwing the remains into the garbage disposal. Finally, for good measure, she found two metal grilling skewers, and gouged out his perverse eyes.

Hyperventilating, Lulu looked over the bloodshed she'd committed, and resigned herself to her fate. Doubtless, she'll be going to prison. Such is the way of sick society. They'd call her a beast, and the man a "victim", at least until they were able to search his house, and find her motive. Although she didn't expect it of them, maybe the children would muster the courage to tell what had happened. Victims of torture rarely reveal their deepest scars, unless they've had ample time to make peace with them. She could only hope that they'd not been brainwashed into believing good about the **thing** that she'd murdered.

Sinking down against the cold wall, Lulu was about to pull out her cell phone, and turn herself in, along with calling in rescue for the kids. But, before her thumb could dial the second "1" in 911, small, cautious footfalls crept down the stairs; two beautiful children, covered in the marks of a madman and monster. A weeping, pale brunette, clinging helplessly to the arm of a bronze-skinned boy revealed themselves, both hobbling awkwardly for the searing pain between their legs.

"He— he's gone?" the little girl sniffed, terrified.

"Yeah. You might not—" Lulu attempted to warn her, but she was too late. "—want to look."

"What do you intend to do with us?" the boy said, inquisitive and defensive.

Lulu deadpanned. It wasn't as though she'd actually planned all of this. "Nothing. The police will come..." she muttered, half zoning out.

The boy face-palmed and groaned, eerily calm in spite of his circumstances. "Baralai could never handle this…"

The small girl peeked up at her companion and attempted to explain, half-hearted, tired. "Oh, it's Shuyin right now."

Seconds passed, and a blank expression overtook the boy's face. "Yuna? What has happened?" he cried out, bewildered, as though just waking to the bloody scene.

"Master is dead, Baralai." Yuna appeared confused, not sure of how she was supposed to feel or think.

Lulu grimaced, heart breaking at the sight of the children. Yuna, the little girl, was clearly shocked beyond her normal capacity of expression. Baralai, the boy, fully dissociative. She understood the defense partially; her own childhood had fractured her emotions until each carried its own intelligence level and opinions, but all while remaining singular in identity. Anger had just taken its much-deserved vengeance, of a certainty. Yet, Lulu felt no relief. She didn't feel like a hero or that she'd accomplished something. She only felt guilt, because—

"Forgive me... I was too late... I should have known..."


End file.
